Tell Her That I'll Be Back
by Molko P
Summary: COPHINE AU, 1942, Second World War, Paris. Cosima, a spy from the Resistance, was kidnaped by the gestapo and got seriously injured during the torture process, but, still, she didn't said a thing about her group. She's delirious, incarcerated with a soviet woman, the high fever and infection on her bruises are making her ill. Will she survive until find her chérie again?


\- You better tell us everything, you dirty whore.

I'm feeling blood in my mouth.

I'm feeling the iron sticks drilling my upper thighs. I can feel the anticipation of the electricity too. The wires. I'm feeling the pain.

I'm feeling everything.

I can feel they breath, they angry, they stress.

Although the pain, it's funny how pissed they are at me.

Yeah, it's funny.

Ditto.

I spilled blood right on the ground. I've felt that too.

\- Sure I will. – A grin crossed my face. A grin covered with blood and a lack of back teeth. – When Jesus came back to Earth to kick Hitler's ass.

As soon as I said "Hitler's ass", a fist came right on my face, hitting me for the eighth, ninth time, maybe? I don't know. I whimpered with the pain burning my left cheek. The chair rocked hard with the impact, almost falling with me tied on it. They laughed. I endured, gasping.

\- You are very cheeky for a american bitch! – One of them, the one that hit me, said, harshly.

I can feel his fist throbbing, and his artery of his neck. I can feel his patience getting over and over.

Cheeky.

I'm very cheeky, I know it.

She always told me that I'm cheeky.

I'm her cheeky girl.

I can feel her calling me cheeky too. In his words, I can hear her.

"You're so cheeky, Cosima!"

And another grin came through my face.

\- Sure I am, sir.

 _Public Catacombs, Paris, France, 1942._

 _Days before._

 _\- I'm afraid._

 _\- Of what?_

 _\- Of losing you._

 _She smiled. It was too dark to see her smile but I'm sure she was smiling at me. I could feel and hear that._

 _\- Don't be afraid._

 _A brief silence came between us. A silence that occupied the emptiness of a kiss. I knew that she couldn't kiss me there. But the silence did it for her. I've felt her silence kissing my lips gently._

 _\- I will never leave you._

?, Paris, France, 1942.

Day one.

My eyes were closed. My mouth was dry for screaming too much. I don't know for how long I've been here, tied on this chair, almost blind by the yellow light upon me, I just can suppose that's been some hours.

On the air, I could breath the scent of burned flesh – my flesh. On the floor, I could feel my bare feet touching the moisture mix of blood, sweat, dirty sand and water. I was still having little convulsions for the last electrocution, my hands still trembling.

\- I'll ask you one more time: Where did your friends go?

My friends.

The resistance.

I don't know what they are talking about.

I _cannot_ know what they are talking about.

\- I… I… I don't know. – I said, the air burning in my lungs. The pain in my upper thigs was unbearable, it was too hard to think, to formulate words. – I think… I… I think…

He raised his fist – the bald one. The small one laid a hand on the switch that turns on the electric circuit not so gently connected with car wires in my thighs by that damn iron sticks.

I trembled.

I trembled anticipating the switch turning on. I trembled anticipating the electric discharge running through me, burning my brain.

It's going to hurt like hell. Again.

Shit.

\- You think what? – The bald man said, his fist remaining in the air.

\- I think… They told me they would go to a party this Friday… It calls… "Führer is my ball's party".

I didn't had time to grin – the pain immediately came. I screamed over the swear words of the bald man and the electric discharge buzz.

\- I'll make you regret your existence. I'll make you regret your existence, dirty American. – I think I've heard before everything goes dark.

 _Some Suburban Neighborhood, Paris, France, 1942._

 _Months before day one_

 _\- When the war finally got finished… I could take you with me. Like… We could live together, in San Francisco._

 _\- Together?_

 _\- Yes. Like… My foster parents gave me their house as a heritage… It's pretty cool and also have a backyard… I don't know… It's good there. It would be a good life in America. You and me and… Yeah. I think it would be good._

 _Her hand reached mine – it was cold. And trembling. She squeezed me softly._

 _I've heard a small laugh._

 _\- What? You don't think so? If you don't it's completely fine I understand that you don't want to li-_

 _\- Cosima._

 _She pulled me to her side, shifting just enough to rest my head in the curve of her neck, my bare breasts against hers. Our hearts beating together._

 _\- It would be lovely, mon amour._

?, Paris, France, 1942.

Day two

\- Hey, yankee… Are you awake?

My head…

My head hurts like hell.

My thighs.

I can't feel them.

God, Cosima, move your foot.

\- Hey, yankee!

Cosima, have focus. Move your foot.

I didn't knew where I was. Am I dead? Is this dark room the limbus? Am I being judged by the devil? Maybe Jesus?

\- You look like a roasted pig, yankee! Get up! – And then I realize that there was this voice echoing in the darkness. I've felt a hand tapping my shoulder.

When I finally could open my eyes, I saw a brief light coming through the small window over the end of the room. Actually, it was not a room, but something like a dirty and stinky gray cube.

The moonlight.

I saw a glimpse of the moonlight.

 _Somewhere. 1942._

 _Someday._

 _\- Your eyes are shinny as the moon, Delphine._

 _\- You said it to me the first time we've met, remember? After you saying the wrong password._

 _\- Yeah, after you almost killing me._

 _\- You know that I couldn't trust you that time, mon amour. There's a lot of traitors and double agents out there._

 _\- Yeah, yeah, I know it, obvs… But do you trust me now?_

 _And then she was on top of me. Our bodies together. Her thigh between my legs._

 _She kissed me. This time, deeply. The deep silence broken by wet noises._

 _\- Yes, mon amour. – She said inside my lips, I gasped in pleasure._

?, Paris, France, 1942.

Day two.

I blinked once. Twice.

It was all blurred suddenly. Twisting, swirling. My head was aching, overwhelmed with too many pain and information.

Well, I'm not dead.

I'm not dead.

Am I dead?

Am I alive?

Why they didn't kill me?

\- Did they cut your tongue too, yankee? – And that voice again. With a weird accent. Polish?

\- Where… Am I?

\- Oh, they didn't. – It said in matter-of-factly. – Gestapo.

Gestapo.

Gestapo.

Gestapo.

The word hit me as a shot. As an electric discharge. Again.

My guts fletched.

Suddenly, I remembered what happened.

How could I forget?

How could I forget?

\- How could I forget? – I muttered.

 _Bobby's Bar, Paris, France. 1942._

 _Day zero._

 _It was supposed to be just a package delivery. And, obviously, a little bit of fun. We deserved it._

 _Bobby was an old Resistance friend. Of course the Germans didn't knew that – unless her name, everything on her means "german and smart enough to say Heil Hitler every time the gestapo appears.". Her bar was a perfect disguise for an invert party. Well, it wasn't a complete disguise, the germans knew what happened in that place at Wednesday night. But, also, people knew her, people respected her, and she has enough guts to face the gestapo during they inspection. She was very brave, and a very important part on getting information about them – the gestapo, about the survivors, and, sometimes, about how to save a person's life and disappear with it without anyone notice. We didn't knew her ways to do it – no one should or could know, but we trusted her._

 _That night, we needed her to disappear with Mrs. A. Luft. She was a French-Canadian and double agent. But, someway, somehow, we realized that they were getting too closer of her. They could get her and torture her in a trap, maybe on her next mission. Besides, she was an important leader of another resistance group; she has a lot of information. They killed Alfred – from her team, if they killed her, things would be even harder for us. That's why Captain Siobhan has ordered us to give her to Bobby. Bobby would make her disappear of gestapo's eyes._

 _Me, Delphine and Mrs. A. Luft were disguised as chaperones. Our boys, Cal and Mark were strategically positioned at the saloon, Felix was the barman, Paul was Luft's client._

 _Paul would pretend to "ask" an hour with Mrs Luft, Bobby would be waiting for them at the room 3. There, he could let her with the bar's owner and go back to the saloon after one hour. If they asked where she were, he would say:_

 _\- Mrs. Loraine took her to fix a rip in her dress._

 _They would laugh._

 _He would laugh._

 _And then we were done._

 _But it didn't happened._

 _Instead, they slammed against the door and shouted, asking for papers. Guns appointed to every moving creature._

 _Hookers, ladies, gentlemen, lady-boys, everyone froze._

 _It was a sepulchral silence beside some whispers here and there. Under the table, I touched Delphine's hand. I wish I could grab her. I wish I could grab her and took her away from there. But we didn't._

 _I wanted to look at her._

 _But I didn't. She neither._

 _We just gave them our papers._

 _\- Katja Obinger. Marion Behraud Bowles._

 _The german said. We nodded._

 _He was about to give back our papers when we heard a gunshot outside the rooms corridor._

 _Everybody screamed._

 _\- WHAT'S HAPPENING? – Someone shouted._

 _\- GESTAPO! GESTAPO IS HERE! – Another one answered. Everybody started to run out the bar._

 _I ripped out the papers from the officer's hand and ran, taking Delphine with me by the free hand._

 _\- RUN!_

 _We ran towards the bar's back door, and jumped the counter to stay behind using it as a shield from the shots. Cal and Mark were shooting at the germans somewhere in the saloon, Felix were with us, just raising his arm enough to shoot directionless, and then hiding above the counter – witch was covered with broken glasses and empty bottles – again._

 _\- Where is Brennand? – I shouted. Brennand was Paul's fake identity._

 _\- I don't know! He took the bloody package to the rooms and disappeared! – Felix answered loudly._

 _\- So he is with the package still. – I thought for a second. – You'll be safe with him, go after him and find Bobby! I'll give you guys backup!_

 _Delphine glanced at me with rage._

 _\- Are you losing your shit?! – She interrupted herself to shoot at the last direction we saw the germans. – What about you, Katja?! You will stay here, shoot like a freak until die for stupid reasons? Really?_

 _And at this right moment, I looked deep at her eyes._

 _For a brief second, everything went silent. I immersed for a moment on her light hazel eyes, and emerged with a gasp right after._

 _I knew that it wouldn't end well._

 _I knew it right from the moment that the germans came in._

 _But I've had to save her._

 _I've had to._

 _I kissed her passionately, not caring about gestapo, not caring about getting shot, caring about no one, no thing._

" _I love you.", my mind screamed._

" _Delphine Cormier, I love you.", it screamed again._

" _I love you and I can't let you die here or by the germans' hands." And again._

" _I love you and please don't die." And again._

" _I love you." And again._

 _And again, and again._

 _I whimpered a little, but I think she couldn't heard it because the noise of guns (and broken glasses, tables turned, destruction itself) was unbearable._

 _\- I'll be back for you, Delphine, understand? – I said, whispering, between our lips. She put her hands forcefully around my neck, kissing me again. – I'll be back for you. – I pulled her hands out, pushing her toward Felix._

 _\- Go._

" _Please don't die."_

 _\- Don't you dare to die, you brat. – She said to me harshly, walking down the counter towards the back door. – Tu es mon unique amour, je t'aime plus que ma vie. – She muttered, finally disappearing between the doors with him._

 _\- Moi aussi. – I said to myself as I recharged my gun. – Moi aussi._

 _And I got up, running and shooting against the crowd._

 _Of course, they would catch me. Someone has to be the bait, and I choose myself to do it. I did it for the Resistance. For Delphine._

 _Cal and Mark were the physical force of our team, Paul was the Commander, Felix, the disguise guy with persuasiveness, Delphine, the brain and physician._

 _Me?_

 _I was the science girl._

 _Actually, the brat and bold one, but also the science girl._

 _I was there to make bombs, grenades, handmade bullets, send messages by radio and shit. I knew if I die, they could find another smart monkey to do the job. Of course they wouldn't find someone smarter than me, but still. I wasn't unreplaceable._

 _At least, not as Delphine was._

?, Paris, France, 1942.

Day two.

\- You couldn't forget. You will never forget even if you want it, yankee. – And then I finally turned toward the voice, facing a woman with a stupidly messy and blonde hair, wearing something that seemed a white blouse with bloodstains, old and dirty jeans.

There was a stranger scar in her left arm.

A symbol.

The scythe and hammer.

 _Kommunist._


End file.
